


Things He Said

by Beth Harker (Beth_Harker)



Category: Dear Evan Hansen - Pasek & Paul/Levenson
Genre: Drug Use, Gen, Swearing, Underage Drinking, strong suicidal ideation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-25
Updated: 2017-12-25
Packaged: 2019-02-20 02:57:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13137639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Beth_Harker/pseuds/Beth%20Harker
Summary: Things that Connor said, and things he didn't say.





	Things He Said

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nausicaa_lives](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nausicaa_lives/gifts).



> Writing this as a Yuletide treat, albeit a really somber yuletide treat. During Yuletide I usually try to push myself to write for fandoms that I've never written for, and probably wouldn't write for most of the rest of the year. I'm vaguely aware that Dear Evan Hansen is a big fandom, with lots of fannon and opinions, as far as musical fandoms go. As such, I really hope I didn't mess this up too badly. Enjoy! 
> 
> And please check the tags for trigger warnings. This fic goes dark, and I want anyone who reads it to be in the right headspace to do so.
> 
> Segment headers taken from this tumblr prompt meme: http://eversncenewyork.tumblr.com/post/110395333021/send-me-a-ship-and-one-of-these-and-ill-write-a

**things he said at 1 am**

_is anybody out there?_

The words were not usually spoken out loud. They were typed on forums, in chatrooms, and over Tumblr posts. They didn't look like what Connor was really trying to say. Sometimes they took the form of a reblogged meme, or responding to a Reddit post about his favorite movie with the sentence ‘yea i saw it’, because he was too tired to say that he cared about it, and why he cared. And it was just like, god, he was looking for a response from somebody, just a goddamned _response_ , but he didn't have the energy to put out anything for them to respond to. 

**things he said at the kitchen table**

“Jesus Zoe, lay off the milk. What are you, a baby cow? You’re not the only one who needs breakfast here.” 

“Fuck pancakes.” 

“It's called a mimosa.” 

“It's called a weed mimosa.” 

“Of course you can smoke a mimosa.” 

“You’re the one who doesn't know what a mimosa is.” 

“Mom isn't looking, want me to make you one?” 

“I'd rather be a chair than a person.” 

“School is overrated. So is life.” 

**things he said under the stars and in the grass**

“Hello stars,” Connor said, and snorted at how dumb, how stupid, how funny, and how incandescently lame it sounded. At least he was happy, albeit solitary as fuck, what else was new. Maybe if he drank some more the stars would say hello back, but until then, it was damn nice to sit out here in the yard, look up at the sky, and remember that the world was kinda pretty sometimes, stars especially. They were, like, shiny and they sparkled. 

He was lying in the grass and looking up, like a total dweeb, because he was a total dweeb. The grass was cold, and tickled his hands and his bare arms. The ground was muddy, from recently melted snow. March grass. New growth. Connor rolled onto his side. 

“Hello grass,” he said. 

The grass did not answer, but the quiet was a companionable sort of quiet. The grass was like one of those friends that Connor had only read about, the ones where you went over to their house, and the wifi on your phone connected automatically, and you didn't even have to say anything, just enjoy being together. 

“Hey grass,” Connor said. “What's your wifi password?”

In the morning, Connor’s mom found him sleeping outside and yelled at him, because she was a terrible bitch who never even tried to understand. 

**things he said when he was on top of the world**

_what if i jump off the edge?_

**things he said said over the phone**

“Sorry, wrong number.” 

For days after, the crisp and painfully solicitous voice at the other end of the suicide prevention hotline rang in Connor’s ear. She hadn't sounded right, not like somebody that he could talk to. He just wanted somebody to

**things he said when he was scared**

“You know I look good.” 

Zoe looked him up and down, and Connor couldn't tell if she was annoyed that he'd stolen her favorite hoodie, amused by his antics, or too fed up with his shit to care. 

“The man-bun thing suits you,” she said at last. “My clothes, however, suit _me_. If you stretch them out, you’re dead meat.” 

“Yeah, yeah,” Connor waved her off. “And if you keep getting on my case, you're dead meat.” 

“Not if I kill you first, asswipe.” 

Zoe turned to go. Connor got to keep the hoodie. 

The churning fear in his stomach had nothing to do with the conversation they'd just had, so much as the fear that it could be their last. He was on a precipice, after all. Any conversation could be his last. 

**things he said when he was the happiest he ever was**

He couldn't remember, and that's what scared him. Like, sure, he'd been happy before. He'd been happy lots of times, especially when he was a little kid. Little kids got happy about trite, ultimately meaningless things. He remembered running downstairs on Christmas morning and tearing open gifts. He remembered playing dodge ball in primary school gym class, and laughing, actually laughing because other kids were throwing things at him. Imagine that! He remembered family trips, to Rome, and Paris, and the Orchard. The Orchard hadn't even been far off or exotic, just homey and fun and he remembered it. 

He just didn't remember what he'd said there. 

**things he said too quietly**

Greetings, mostly. 

By the time Connor turned twelve, half a dozen hellos and good mornings had already been swallowed up, because he was a mess and nobody cared. 

His goodbyes were quiet too. Even when he was saying them near constantly just under his breath, nobody ever heard. 

**things he didn't say at all**

“Hey, it’s Evan, right?” 

Connor didn't know why, when he imagined himself making a friend, it just had to to be with the only person in the whole school who might have been more of a waste of space than he was. It just went to show that Connor was a loser, even in his fantasies. Go figure. 

Nonetheless, Connor was pretty sure that if he were to have a friend at school, it would be Evan Hansen. Why not? There was something about the constant, nervous ringing of that kid’s hands, and the way his gaze always seems to follow people as they rushed past him that made him seem like he'd like to be known. And Connor could understand that. He could understand anxiety, and fear, and sweaty palms, and that all too pervasive desire to be _known_ better than he would ever admit.

**things he wished somebody else would say**

_me too_

Nothing more, and nothing less. 

And it wasn't like he wanted anybody else to hurt the way he did. 

Maybe he just wanted somebody to understand, to commiserate, to _something_.

He still held out hope that somebody would, before it was too late.


End file.
